Through Science
by esuterutomoru
Summary: Roppi has to realize he'll never get used to the way his self-proclaimed twin loved him. Yaoi, graphic smut, IzaRoppi rarepairing.


**Disclaimer: **Do not own Drrr! at all. Not even Roppi.

**Warning: **Explicit smut.

* * *

**Through science**

The world would only laugh, nevertheless it wasn't only the actual physical pleasures of sex that really satisfied him but also being so much _closer_ to him. After all, Roppi was a failure, an unwanted android formed to the shape of an already existing human being, a mere 'twin'. He didn't want or need anything from the world. All he had was thanks to Izaya's own wish to give it to him and he was honestly grateful for that. Even if he was touched, spoken to, looked at, he never felt arrogant or particularly pleased about receiving it, he was merely silently content.

Truly letting go and showing his contentment with being actually alive and in the world was not something Roppi did. But Izaya was set on making him react properly.

"Ha…agh…kh…hnn…" His usually low voice is surprisingly loud in the otherwise silent, dark bedroom of the luxurious apartment where Izaya and him live together and Roppi sees that there is that tiny little grin in the corner of Izaya's lips that shows that he likes what he is getting. Half-heartedly, he tries to get away, pretend he hates it all, but…

When this all began, Roppi thought he could endure it silently. He had been wrong.

There's something unspeakably beautiful in the way Izaya's pale body moves when he pulls his tight black sweater off, messing up his jet black hair, the smooth tresses sliding along his cheekbones and his forehead. Roppi is transfixed, silent, carmine eyes hesitantly filled with lust for that human perfection that Izaya radiates when leaning over him, his back curving very slightly, feline grace all over.

He just has to watch. That soft, pink tongue, the colour like expensive rouge on women's lips, darting from between those thin, smooth-as-silk lips, touching briefly, wetly to his own broader, stronger chest, against his ribs, feeling them out under his thin pale skin.

Roppi twists his torso, head tossing to the side with a sharp sound of 'tch' falling from between gritted sharp teeth, fingers digging into the black silk beneath him. Izaya had said he wanted to see him amongst all black. Roppi has no real idea about the concept of 'erotica' but he feels good from the cool, soft strokes of dark fabric against his shaky limbs and straining upper body.

It wasn't the first time, though. He was used to this: the slick touches of tongue on him, those hands with the rings on his bare thighs, Izaya's wet moans into his skin. But could you really get used to the _pleasure_? Impossible. Roppi vaguely recalled a previous lover of Izaya's refer to the man as 'a god in bed'. Back then, Roppi had no idea what the kid meant with that.

Lately, he had to admit he agreed. When tonight began, he had been adamant on resisting, but in the end, Izaya's mouth at the crook of his neck, his insistent hands on his backside and his hips _dancing_ against him, his promising voice in his ear,

'Brother, let me have you~'

Roppi's will shattered, fell around Izaya's feet and he nearly begged his shorter 'twin' to just… _never stop_. He had a feeling that he would for real before the night ended.

Minutes pass in agonizing heat, Roppi's body covered in sweat and spit beneath Izaya's smaller, slimmer form. He is naked, his mouth is open with his short, heavy breaths and his head is tilted to the side a little shamefully, obediently, hair in his barely open eyes. He knows Izaya won't have that for long, but he tries to hide somehow as even he knows that this is decadent and the world would degrade them for it. He cares little about himself, but he has no idea why Izaya would ruin his perfect reputation for him. Roppi always planned to ask afterwards. He never had the strength.

Izaya spends a great deal of time touching him. Just touching in strange ways that Roppi doesn't understand but absolutely _loves_, and he wishes a little he could do something in return because this feels unfair, but he has no confidence and barely any knowledge about intimacy. He could learn, he supposed, there were ways, but he couldn't be bothered to. He wouldn't admit if asked, but he knew Izaya suspected he liked this soft tremble of uncertainty, this slightly shameful excuse to just lie back and enjoy.

Hours, probably. Roppi dazedly gauges three have passed and he still doesn't have fingers inside, just Izaya's tongue dancing somewhere between his thighs, below his groin, teasing the breath out of him. His fingers are buried in glossy jet black hair, massaging, tugging, clenching, anything to get a little more, something his body desperately needs.

He's panting, rather voicelessly, airy little gasps for air, silent, yet so loud to his own ears. His carmine eyes are on Izaya, the man won't have him look away for even one second. He had threatened him somewhere along the way that he would stop if he looked away for just one second.

Spit sticking to his usually dry, rough mouth from the kisses shoved down his throat, Roppi watches and breathes, chest heaving desperately. He swallows, blinking long as he feels sticky mess drip down between his thighs, a mix of colourless fluids from Izaya's skilled mouth and tongue and his own barely resisting body. It makes him embarrassed, a pale blush touching his face as he turns his head away, but still glances down again from that strange angle, breath puffing through his nose, because he doesn't want his 'twin' to ever stop.

The fingers come quick, slippery and smooth, long so they reach deep inside him and tease him until he drips precum and curses under his breath. Roppi is tense, but not enough to feel the pain of being stretched; rather he's caught up in trying to control his shuddering thighs by gripping his own knees firmly, teeth clenching tight, baring a little, meaning to look menacing, but only seeming desperate.

Izaya smiles and Roppi feels like he could punch him if he didn't feel weak like a newborn kitten. Disgusting, what he's reduced to and he loves it. And he's still looking at him, a little worried frown curving his parted lips, a tiny scowl between his brows. Izaya reaches up with his free, less sticky hand and strokes his forehead. Roppi feels like a child, shy and innocent and he hates it, but allows everything, stomach cutting in excitedly when the fingers slide back to leave him comfortably open. As he sees Izaya move above him, shift his weight, get into the right position for it, he realises he can hardly wait.

The penetration is strange at first, as always. Strange, because it leaves Roppi's deep voice at a disturbingly high pitch, his mouth hanging open with a string of saliva between teeth and lower-lip. He knows how he looks, somehow he realises in his mind that he looks like some cheap _slut_, but Izaya doesn't seem to notice how ugly he is.

Just look at his face. Rapturous. Those soft, thin brows pulled together into that perfect shape, his teeth showing a little between his silky lips, and that hunger in his eyes, Roppi can hardly believe anyone can really look at him like that. And Izaya is not looking at anyone else, doesn't want anyone else. He is inside Roppi, as far as he can be, and he is aware of it and loves it just as much as Roppi uselessly denies loving it. It's beautiful, in a way, and has Roppi's eyes becoming wet with tears that cling to his thick lashes, but never really fall, rather pool in the corners of his eyes, lazily trickling a little before being licked up by Izaya's shaky, insistent tongue that leaves a heated sheen of spit behind.

"Ah…" His moan is quick, as quick as Izaya's thrust is slow, and his hands move from his knees to tap over that slim back, slide across the sweat and clench into the lower parts weakly, nails leaving tiny marks when his 'twin' slides in harder, a little deeper.

"Ahh…hh…ohgod…" He doesn't believe in deities, rather he is shakily agreeing to Izaya's rank when it comes to pleasure. He swallows hard, head spinning, tilted backwards into the mess of black pillows beneath it. He sees Izaya move above him, feels him inside sliding back and forth, his thighs brushing his hips, skin touching here and there, damp with sweat and spit and Roppi breathes nervously, fingers weakly groping over Izaya's back. It's slow, hard, but slow and it's torture. It feels so good for him he can't breathe properly. He knows he is tight, and Izaya loves that, enjoys it, it's written all over his face. It makes Roppi feel a little, stupidly proud.

There's sweat on Izaya's brows, in his hair, on his temples, rolling down his neck, his bare shoulders over his chest and Roppi wants to watch but the moment he looks a little better at the man above him, he wants a little more and he doesn't know how to voice his need. There are words on his tongue, Izaya's name in the back of his throat, more tears in his eyes as he rubs his fingertips over that slippery back, trying to get what he wants.

"A-" It nearly hurts when Izaya angles his hips and rolls them just _right_, the blunt head inside rubbing smoothly over that spot inside that had Roppi snarling in shock when he was first introduced to the pleasure touching it gave. Now, he just enjoys it, tilting his head back languidly as the short warmth of sudden delight hums through him and a shaky, deep moan leaves his mouth, "M-mmmhh…"

It loosens his tongue, too.

"Izaya…ah…Izaya…Izaya-…ahhh…" His fingers grope his back again, nails sliding over his shoulders in ragged scratches, not deep enough to really harm, but hard enough to satisfy the masochist in his 'twin'. "Izayahh… I..Izayaa…" His name, a hundred times and more, tangy sweet on his tongue, his voice low then light, pitch shifting as he is breathing harshly, quicker and quicker when the slams come faster into his body. His thighs shake and his stomach cuts in hungrily, squeezing around that invading length, Roppi's head pressed back into the soft pillows, the carmine eyes filled with only one feeling:

_Ecstasy._

The bed is slamming against the wall. One wouldn't believe what strength Orihara Izaya exerts from his body when he's having sex for real. Roppi is sure both of them are getting bruised and he can't bring himself to hate it. He loves this. He loves everything about this because it's his 'twin' and there's something in the air between them that's unspoken and soft and best left like that.

There's a tongue on his own, shaky and warm, wet to the point of dripping and he dazedly sucks and swallows like a good whore. Shame is beyond him this second and he somehow knows Izaya doesn't see anything degrading in him. They're kissing and it's so good, but there's no air and he wants to cry out, wants to tell him, ohgod, somehow, he has to know, just now, right there, right _there_, so good, _good_, sogood, soclose…!

Shaky hands on shaking bodies, trembling thighs against trembling hips, Roppi tilts his head away as he feels the trickle of heat sticking to his stomach and deep in his body. There's spit on his mouth, Izaya's spit, his name on his tongue again, voice weak and quivering, limbs and body powerless as he somehow melts into the blackness of the bed and lets Izaya stay with him forever a little.

Sleep doesn't come quick to them. The aftermath is too long, much like after an atomic bomb being dropped. Izaya's touches are frequent and sticky warm, Roppi moans and tries to tilt and shift and move away, breathing laboured and tired. His 'twin' is insistent and keeps going on, but he is not ready for a second round yet. He needs to move away and calm down, be on his own again.

Izaya doesn't let him too far away, just to the other end of the bed. His touches are still there, although less frequent and just very light, but still hot enough to make Roppi shake and sigh. The carmine eyes slowly try to shift back to that shade of nothing, but Izaya doesn't want to let that happen. There's more to his touches than Roppi wants to admit and he moves an unusually weak hand to rub his aching chest through the artificial skin and flesh, feeling artificial bones beneath. His fake heart pumps his blood through his near-mechanical body and somehow hurts because love feels so good even when fabricated through science.

END.


End file.
